


Noise Complaint

by LunagaleMaster



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cults Exist, Disruption of Semi-Public Spaces, Statement Fic, The feeling when being professional gets you into more trouble in the long run, Usher Foundation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunagaleMaster/pseuds/LunagaleMaster
Summary: Statement of Marisa Tanner regarding her encounter with the leader of the Cult of the Eternal Sun. Statement taken on August 10th, 2016, at the Usher Foundation, Annapolis branch. Recording pending.-----In some ways there is a subtly in the art of loud noises. A percussionist can understand this.





	Noise Complaint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maebmad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maebmad/gifts).

> Hello! It's a bit late, but here's my statement fic for Piles of Nonsense. It's not exactly what I wanted, but it's done and I'm mostly satisfied with it. Hope you enjoy!

Statement of Marisa Tanner regarding her encounter with the leader of the Cult of the Eternal Sun. Statement taken on August 10th, 2016, at the Usher Foundation, Annapolis branch. Recording pending. 

\-----

Before I begin, I would like to apologize. By the time I’m finished writing my statement, it will probably be way past closing. I’m not usually this inconsiderate and believe me, if I could bear it, I would here right when you opened at 6 am to avoid making any of you stay.

But I know if I were to do that, I wouldn’t be done by sunrise, and I’m sorry, I can’t be out there, not if I can help it. If you had any forms online, this wouldn’t be an issue, but there aren’t, and so I’m here. So, I’m sorry in advance. Feel free to blame any tardiness to your families on me. I deserve it. 

In essence to not waste anymore time, I’ll keep my introduction brief. I was a percussionist at the Annapolis Symphony Orchestra. It was a dream come true, to say the least. I had always wanted to be in an orchestra. Well, maybe not that specifically, but music has always called me. Singing at first when I was little, but there’s always a certain joy when you learn you can hit things in a very specific way to make it sound beautiful. I remember, when I was five, I proudly stamped up to my mother, held up a frying pan I somehow managed to obtain, and told her I would use this to be the most famous music player in the entire universe. 

She signed me up for violin lessons. 

I don’t know why she wanted me to learn violin. Something about being traditional and using my obvious natural talent to play something with skill. I think she thought the difficulty would turn me away from music altogether, no job stability and what not. But I did learn to play violin, don’t get me wrong. 

Along with piano, vibraphone, triangle, and a few others. Of course, not at once, but after my instructor convinced my mother that I needed something to my tastes, it didn’t take me long to fall in love with how I could make music ring. 

See, people miss the subtlety in percussions. For instruments that aren’t very quiet, they add a certain finesse. Unlike other musicians, I don’t specialize in only one instrument. Well, technically, I do, vibraphone, but no one asks for just specifically a vibraphone player. That’s because percussions must be limited. They’re powerful in a piece, and generally they serve as a good backbone or an emphasis, never the star, always the support, but always always a key player in keeping it all meshing together. That’s a bit of a simplification, but we could be here all day talking about the subtleties even a single cymbal could bring to a set, especially in regards to storytelling within the composition of pieces. 

I’m sorry for rambling. I know I said I wouldn’t keep you, but I just need you to understand. This was life, it was everything to me I volunteered for every charity event, I taught children how to play the piano in their educational programs, and when I wasn’t helping the orchestra directly, I’d spend a lot of my time doing these things on my own. I liked going to parks and picking up my old violin just to see people’s faces transform from an odd curiosity to this stunned joy. 

For most I would say, loving your job is a myth, but for me, if was more than that. More than just performance, it was me. 

And that man, he destroyed me. 

During Fourth of July, we always do this special concert for our troops. It’s usually held in a local field just outside of town, as a final act during the Annapolis City Festival. I’m not one for carnivals or festivals or heaven forbid, rodeos. I’m especially not for the traffic they bring or the drunkards that always tend to find their way backstage. But, it’s fun enough, if patronizingly patriotic. The fireworks are nice at least. 

Because this was an outdoor event, rehearsals were odd. They accounted less for acoustics and more practicing how to most efficiently move out of the way so backstage hands could properly move our instruments for the next act to come through. Since we were almost always last, generally we didn’t always have to worry about such things. The perks of being a local darling for all that’s worth. 

Not worth much in the grand scheme of things. Because even if we have a nice spot on the schedule doesn’t mean we can’t get caught up in the local... _ politics _let’s call it. To put it kindly. 

Much like airplane tickets, if companies can overbook something they will, and for Fourth of July with a nice open field near a major city, everyone wants the space for something. The actual stage is never taken up, and there’s always room for a sea full of people, but the backstage where we keep out instruments and other essentials? There’s always a bit of competition on the limited space. 

It usually isn’t too grating. The worst group had been this group of twenty something, and even then while they were loud, I’d be a bit obnoxious too if I had to spend my holiday cramped in half the space you were promised with fifty other mostly drunk people. Not that we had it much better, but we were only there for half a day at most. Plus, it’s hard to get mad when someone’s drunkenly offering you to share their beer. 

It’s not, it’s not ideal, but it’s not terrible. Other people aren’t the issue.

No, it’s when they have no regards to others, their passions, and any sense of professionalism, then I have an issue. 

It was around noon when I arrived at that wreck of a field. I already woke up with a headache, and the festival around me wasn’t helping. I was hoping by getting there a bit early, I could have some time to breath and relax. You know, find the correct mindset. That sentiment immediately died when I could see smoke rising in the direction I knew I needed to be in, and that hope turned into dread when I realized that instead of the noise dying when leaving the festival, it was getting louder. 

In that moment, I considered going home. I wish I did, but no. I was a professional. And even if I knew my day would be horrible, I was going to do my job. So, after a quick detour to get a bit of comforting cotton candy, I went to see what exactly I was going to be dealing with for the rest of the evening. There’s a little hill overlooking the main field, and I used it to scout out who our unfortunate neighbors would be.

There was nothing that could have prepared me for what I saw. I know college parties. I know what they could wreck. I’ve seen what football games do hyped up fans. I know the level of destruction they leave in the chaos. This was something else. I don’t know how they were allowed to stay. Considering what happened, it could have been supernatural for all I knew. But, dear god.

Try to imagine a frat party you see in 80's movies and you’ll get an okay starting point. Toilet paper wrapping around nearly every surface, crushed cans, broken bottles, empty chip bags, and so much other garbage covered the ground in a layer of trash. Also the cars, so many cars, mostly trucks, all of them places cars shouldn’t be and some in positions that would surely damage them later. I don’t even know how security let them in, let alone let them run their wheels like they did, just spraying mud everywhere, ripping the ground and leaving holes that I’m sure they’re still trying to clean up. The smoke I saw was from a bonfire in the center of it all. It was nearly the size of a person. And I was suddenly so glad that it had rained the previous day. It may have made more mud, but I can’t imagine what destruction the dry grass could have caused. 

This mess, it was awful, but I could have stuck to myself and pretend they were far away from me. I would have, I should have, but I didn’t. Couldn’t actually. 

Because while they were messes, they were also incredibly and devastatingly loud. 

From that distance, I couldn’t make out any of the noise, but the fact that I nearly had to plug my ears even from the hilltop should be explanation enough. It was as if you took an entire cities’ worth of noises, cars and all, and stuffed them in one location, and forgot to put most of the people with it. There were only a hundred maybe two hundred of them at most, and while that wasn’t a small number especially for the field size, you’d think there’d be so much more. 

And I admit, I did not handle it well. At first, I thought I did. I took a deep breath, and just went about my business. I walked to our little camp site and checked with my director. I tried to make a noise complaint, but one tired look on his face told me enough. Makes me wonder how many of us already complained. 

Just… it’s hard to explain the noise. Because if it was just, loud, I could have waited it out. I had plenty to do, and even if I didn’t, our directors wouldn’t have minded us taking time to enjoy the festival. But the noise, it wasn’t- you didn’t just hear it. You felt it. It crept into every space. If I tried to plug my ears, I could still feel the ground shake and closing my eyes did nothing but make the noise feel like it had more force. I could barely think, let alone get in the right headspace for a performance. And all of us, my coworkers and I, were like this, but unlike them, I didn’t have my instrument to maintain, as a percussionist they provided one and all I had to do was let someone carry my hammers and-

I’m sorry. I’ve thought about these next few moments over and over. And I want to think that I was reasonable, that I made the most logical choices and it was inevitable what happened. It wouldn’t be fair, but it would make it easier to swallow. 

I tried talking to a few more officials, but they made it clear that they either didn’t care or were backed up with so many complaints they couldn’t deal with it. One actually looked a bit scared when I asked. They covered their ears and shook their head before I could even get my full complaint in. So, with my extra time, I went to deal with the problem directly. I don’t even know what I thought I could do. The person who organized this probably didn’t care what destruction they caused let alone if someone like me walked in tell them I didn’t like them. 

But like I said, I could barely think, and if I didn’t do something, I would have taken it out on something. Or worse, someone. Ha. I thought that I wouldn’t let some noise ruin my professionalism. 

On the inside, the camp was even worse. I’ll spare the details, but every piece of trash under the sun could be found laying in over exaggerated potholes, and the grass was trampled to the point of nonexistence. The noise, however, was almost… better. It was still loud, don’t get me wrong, but in the heat of it, I could distinguish each sound. The rev of an engine. The shouting of a drunk man across the way. The pop of a firecracker. Instead of a wall of overwhelming noises trying to force me to feel the full magnitude of it, hundreds of little noises buzzed all around me to get me to listen. 

I still couldn’t think, but I was on a mission. And you didn’t need much brain power to navigate when you knew where you were going. From my overview, I remembered the bonfire but next to the bonfire was a fancier tent. It was a bit bigger than the others, but nothing if not recognizable. I say tent, but it was more like a tinfoil cube with a sunroom. Firstly, there was nothing on top of it to keep the elements out and worse, it was the shiniest thing in the place. The light reflected off it from every angle. That’s why I could see the opening; that’s the only place my eyes could land on without feeling they were burning up. 

Said tent when I arrived, still glinted painfully, but thankfully not as much from the overview. The tent itself looked empty. I say looked, I opened the flap a little? Yes, I was that desperate, but no. No one was inside, and I didn’t investigate further. 

The bonfire, however, had a little audience of its own. 

Here’s the thing about this group, there were surprisingly a diverse number of them. I expected mostly 20 somethings about, partying the night, and so on, but no. Sure, they were there too, laughing and running, screaming and so on. But there were a surprising number of elderly and teenagers as well. It wasn’t a family thing, I think. In fact, they all more or less felt independent of one another. Sure they interacted, but they always shouted instead of conversing. Probably just wanted to hear their own voices over the crowd, or just add to the noise. 

Oh, and they all wore the same shirt. No matter what outfit, or accessory they chose to add on, they all put them over a burnt orange shirt. It was just a t-shirt, the type you’d be required to wear on during field trips and forget about years down the line. These shirts didn’t have any words on them, just a little symbol. It looked like a sun, sort of, but not really? It was like someone took a simple drawing of a sunset, but added waves through it. Instead of stopping at the edges of the semi-circles, the rays met at the center of the sun. It barely really looked like a sun, to be honest. It really wasn’t. But it was. It had to be. 

I didn’t particularly want to talk to them, but I was quite annoyed at the journey at that point. On top of the noise and the trash, the summer sun hadn’t been kind, and even if it was already around six, it didn’t stop it from leaving me slick with sweat by the time I got to the bonfire. So, with my journey, I wanted something, and if that meant talking to this obnoxious group, well at worst, I thought I’d get more annoyed and at best, I would get what I wanted or possibly let off some steam. 

When I approached, none of them looked up. Two of them lounged in the grass with a pile of beers around them, not even paying attention to the fire, and seemingly not even to each other. Another was seemingly listening to music, and with the speaker he added to it, he possibly could have, if it wasn’t for the one next to him yelling directly in his ear. 

The last, however, surprised me. He was an older man, at least he looked to be with short cropped salt and pepper hair, and some deep set wrinkles that looked layered into his skin. He was scruffy looking but in a way that felt out of comfort rather than out of laziness because for all of the trash around him, the leather jacket he wore looked surprisingly well kept despite the ridiculousness of wearing a thing like that in this weather. Unlike the others, he didn’t wear the shirt, in fact, he wasn’t wearing any shirt at all. With the shorts, he was almost reasonably dressed. He sat in an expensive looking lawn chair with only a short space in front of the fire. It looked strong, but the pockets were filled with all kinds of junk and whatever color it had been originally long since faded from use. 

But the way he looked at the fire, there was something about it. The fire flickered in front of him, and it reflected in his dark eyes, just as intensely. Almost like he wanted to see each individual crackle fly and die. 

But most importantly to me, he was quiet. So despite how weird he was, he was the most approachable out of the bunch. 

Even when I walked right up to him, I had to shout to get his attention, and he didn't look away from the flames. With a quick flick he gestured for me to lean in closer. And I did. I thought that maybe he didn’t want to shout. But when I leaned to his ear, he shook his head. 

Closer, he said in this low tone. Despite the fact that I couldn’t have possibly heard him over the noise, I could understand him perfectly. I didn’t hear him. I mean, I did, but the words weren’t clear, or even really connected. The best way I can describe it is that word slipped in between the noise. I could tell he was talking and could hear a low rumble, but I didn’t know what the word was until I did. 

I thought it was just my hearing being off at the time. Something about the tone.

I leaned closer until my ear was nearly in front of his mouth. Then he stopped me with another flicker. 

He asked me what I wanted. Being so close, that weird tone was gone, but, every word rumbled so incredibly clear, it felt louder than it was. I tried to turn to him but again, he said no, and just said to speak. 

At this point, I just wanted to feel somewhat productive, so I indulged him. I told him I was looking for the leader of the organization who was staying here and wanted to make a noise complaint, gesturing to the mess around me as I did so. I asked him where I could find them. I fully expected to have to pull back and repeat myself, but the man hummed softly in acknowledgement. 

He asked me if I knew what I was listening to. There was an edge to his voice this time. I wondered if something was wrong, if I said something, but moving didn’t feel correct. I was suddenly aware of just how vulnerable I was just leaning over him. I looked towards him as much as I could trying to see something to get a better read on him, but I could only see his hand waiting to flick out and gestures again and his stubbled cheek. A tattoo of the wavy sun was imprinted on his skin. 

The quiet from him didn’t feel as comforting then. And it continued, as he waited for me to answer him. 

I told him I couldn’t hear anything maybe if there wasn’t so much noise, and I would have rambled but he cut me off. 

Yes, he intoned, that noise is exactly what you need to listen to. 

We kept talking, quietly despite the fact the constant crashing and yelling should have drowned us both out. He told me about noise and the art of it. How melodies can be so much more than something pleasant. He told me about motivations. That you can compel someone to do something for you, sure, but noise had a way of disrupting others especially in the long term, of making you unable to do anything, but either move from it or live with it. 

He told me about noise complaints and how they kept trying to give them to him, and how after the third one came by, they stopped because they didn’t know what’d he’d do to them if they sent a fourth. 

He said he liked talking to me, even if I hadn’t said a word in what felt like hours. He wouldn’t count me as the fourth. 

The sun was starting to set, but I will never forget the way it blazed across my back. The aches in my limbs that took weeks to heal. Or how the noise seemed to fade in the background, constant and still there, but nothing compared to the clipped tones of this man, and the constant chattering of the blazing fire next to me. 

I told him I needed to leave. And when he asked why, I did the stupidest thing in my life. I told him the truth. 

“A musician, no wonder,” he sounded so dismissive, and he laughed. Short like this was all some joke. “Consider this some education then.” 

And he reached down below him and from the pile of junk under his seat, he picked up a book. Of all things, I never would have expected him to bring that. The cover was obviously rebound, but I didn’t see the title before he flicked open one of the pages. 

It was sheet music. For piano, sure, but it was rebound into an orchestra set. Out of habit, I just started reading it. Not the words, but sheet reading. The piece was nothing like I’d ever seen published. It shouldn’t have worked musically, and it didn’t really, because if you were to read it, the notes more or less just looked like a child scribbled dots on the bars and called it music. 

But reading it, I could tell what it wanted to be. It was noise, loud, disruptive, but somehow it made sense. It needed something to harmonize with it, but with the right set, I could almost hear the melody that would go with it. 

That’s when the buzzing started. It was low, and if I hadn’t been aware of the constant noise and what it sounded like before this, I would have dismissed this as just part of that. But, this sound, it was unique. It was coming from somewhere, I didn’t know where. Out of me, in me, beyond something I could comprehend. What it was, was disorienting, and I panicked when I realized it kept getting louder the more I read the dangerous melody. 

Sonus in Solis, the man explained. He said he wondered what noise it would make for someone like me. And by me being such a captive audience, it was too much of a good opportunity to lose. 

At this point I pulled away, hoping I was fast enough so I wouldn’t get caught by those flickering hands, but the man just stayed pleasantly still. He was even smiling a bit. I think it was the first time he looked away from the flames, and it was just to see me run, and I could see it crinkling the edge of odd sun. 

I ran. As fast as I could. I made it from the bonfire back to our site so fast, I’m surprised I didn’t fall in a trash pile. I was shaking, sweating, and that buzzing just kept going and going, even as I kept my breathing in order. 

One of my colleagues noticed me. Of course they did, and more would later on especially since I had apparently missed rehearsal, but Amy, she noticed me. She asked me if I was okay and where I had been. But she also asked me what I was holding. 

I looked down, and there it was, Sonus In Solis. I had run away clutching the piece in my hands and I barely even noticed. Background to my potentially losing my life I suppose. 

The rest of the night was fine. It was absolutely fine. My director was annoyed, of course, but with how shaken up I was, and my previous track record, there wasn't any lasting consequences from a tardiness standpoint. No, other than a few blasts from our loud neighbors during the performances, the Fourth of July celebration went on without any issues.

But the buzzing stayed. Throughout the night, I could hear it. If I hadn’t known these pieces by heart, I would have been too distracted to play. Even so, the entire night I could feel myself reaching to play notes blazed in my head from within that stupid book. 

By the time it was over, I was shaking from trying to keep myself focused. 

That’s how it’s been you know? Every time I pick up an instrument, I want to play that horrible song. I’ve started a few times, and I’ve gotten more than a few of my fair share of raised eyebrows from my colleagues about what I’ve been doing. Why am I messing around? Why do I seem to scowl whenever I need to play anything anymore? 

It takes so much to keep myself from playing it. It’s that noise. Something about it harmonizes with Sonus in Solis and I know if I were to play it, the buzzing in me would be satisfied. But I can’t, I can’t do what it wants. It hurts. It burns. The sound burns. Every time I harmonize with it, the buzzing rises, louder and louder, and the sound burns my eardrums. I stop, and it’s not gone, it just waiting for me to finally cave in and do a duet. To harmonize, to make the beautiful noise of burning. 

It’s worse during the day. At night, it’s buzzing but manageable. Even now, it’s here, but I can ignore it, mostly. But during the day, it’s so much worse. Because while at night, I hear it, I can’t tell where it’s coming from. 

During the day, I see the sun, and can hear its buzzing asking me to play. 

People say the sun is the source of all life. It’s the reason why we can exist, why the Earth isn’t just a frozen rock in the middle of nowhere. And it is these things technically. We gain necessary vitamins from its ultraviolet rays. Plants can’t survive without it. And warmth. Can’t forget that. On a factual level, the sun is important for all living creatures. 

But the sun isn't life. For all we know it as, no one can claim that it breathes. It just exists. We say it gives us something, but its rays wouldn’t have the capacity to care if you were just an inch too close to death. We would sizzle and vibrate and suffer to its force, and we could do nothing but take it. 

The sun isn’t life, it’s a giant ball of unimaginable destructive force we happened to settle far away enough to call safe. 

Most people know these things on a factual level. If nothing else, we know never to stare at the sun, that we have to remember to put on sunscreen, and of course, the aforementioned starter of life nonsense. But we forget as well. The sun, as long as it doesn’t bother us directly is just an afterthought. At least compared to its relative scale. If you’re walking outside, you may think the weather is nice or that it’s too hot or maybe I need to bring a jacket, but you don’t think of the sun itself, unless it’s shining right into your eyes. 

And you think, that’s just annoying. And you cover your face or put on sunglasses… and that’s the end of it. You go back to not thinking about the very thing that causes heat to begin with.

Most people just associate sun with light. Sunlight. Ha. Heh. 

The sun is more than that. But we don’t usually care because we can block out any inconvenient feeling with a fan or a nice pair of shades. It isn’t until you hear the way the ultraviolet rays constantly cook every surface do you really know what it means to feel sunlight.

We’re at its mercy right now you know. We’re burning ever so slightly. Because even though we can’t see it, the Earth is so tiny compared to its might, and even on the darker side, we can’t escape it, we can only look away. Even then, moonlight is just a reflection of the sun. 

But I hear it now and I'm always aware of what it is and what it can do. It won’t ever let me forget. I know how it burns and what it wants me to do, and I can feel its fires licking me as the sounds try to overwhelm my will. By now, I can’t even go to work. I can’t even pick up an instrument and even when you gave me this pen, I felt myself tapping to the beat and the heat rising to my neck.

Music, sound, it can be beautiful. It was to me for the longest time, but now I know how much it can destroy. Because sound is just a fancy word for vibrations, and if something vibrates just right, it will always burn. 

The buzzing grows louder every day. The sun is patient, but even it has its limits. I’m not sure how long it will be before it decides that it’s too late for me to play. 

\---

Followup Notes: 

  * Ms. Tanner left ‘Sonus in Solis’ with the Usher Foundation. We have confirmed its existence and a second confirmation of its Leitner status. 
  * The man and the ‘sun cult’ Ms. Tanner has mentioned are associated with The Cult of the Eternal Sun. They are a Desolation cult centered around using sound and vibrations to cause destruction. Ms. Tanner in her encounter with the leader, William Cast, may have prevented greater damage. There is no ability for us to confirm this information, however. 
  * Two weeks after her statement, Ms. Tanner was taken to the Red Cross Hospital located in downtown Annapolis for 3rd degree burns. Said burns were on her fingertips and around her ears. 
  * She has since quit her job at the Annapolis Symphony and has moved back in with her mother. She’s currently working on receiving a teaching license. 
  * Ms. Tanner has refused to give specifics of how she was burned. Rather she says cryptically, she did what the sun wanted and doing so would inevitably leave her burned. 
  * Ms. Tanner’s burns were not just around her ears, she clarified. The sun burned her eardrums to ash, and she can no longer hear. She reportedly looked very relieved about this second notion. 
  * She also reports on sunny days, despite her hearing loss, she can still hear the sun burning, but she admits she doesn’t know if this is true or trauma related. 
  * She asked us to leave quickly after our initial questions, citing, our researchers made her ears ring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! Finished! Tell me what you liked, tell me what you disliked, or just tell me something weird about your day. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> See you next time~


End file.
